


A Waltz To Remember Her

by smokeandjollyranchers



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb's own mental health, Day One: Dance, F/M, HAPPY WIDOJEST WEEK, Hurt/Comfort, Trent Ikithon is in here so just...Ikithon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 12:37:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19723834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeandjollyranchers/pseuds/smokeandjollyranchers
Summary: He smiles back, letting her lead him away from the party, from the murder of her father, from the obstruction of justice Lord Tennyson created in the Empire, from the first murder the three of them would ever do together. Ikithon didn’t know if the daughter knew much of anything, or if she was even involved. Better safe than sorry, Master Ikithon had told him, fixing Bren’s suit before they left.Bren follows the girl who’s name he couldn’t bring himself to learn, and wonders if this is how every dance ends.(SPOILERS up to episode 69!!! Rated for violence, depressing topics and Ikithon being, you know Ikithon)





	A Waltz To Remember Her

_ That makes sense _ Molly says.  _ I could see you as a waltzer.  _

Caleb wants to  _ panic _ once he hears him say that, wonder what he did in the smattering of days they’ve known each other to make that assumption.  _ He’s lying,  _ a voice in his head whispers, confident and assured.  _ It’s Mollymauk, he lies about everything. He just wants to look insightful.  _ Still, to be sure, Caleb ducks his head a little more, brings up his scarf a little more, smothers  _ him _ a little more. 

Caleb Widogast has never danced. 

* * *

Bren Aldric Ermendrud is an  _ alright _ dancer. 

He keeps time well enough, Astrid doesn’t have to worry about counting beats while she’s dodging his feet, but he steps on her often, each time leading to Master Ikithon’s voice to order them to  _ stop _ . 

Bren winces at her, apologetically, and Astrid just gives him a half-roll of her eyes.  _ A shrug. It is what it is _ . Sure she says that, but each time Bren messes up, Ikithon grabs her hands, showing Bren proper form. Again and again because  _ he can’t get this _ . 

_ Observe Ermendrud _ Master Ikithon orders, his hand on Astrid’s waist.  _ And ask yourself why this skill eludes you _ . 

Behind them, Bren sees Eodwulf narrow his eyes, just for a millisecond, before his face is schooled back into indifference. They dance, and Astrid moves perfectly. She should, considering how many times she’s had to do this, and her smile is soft and  _ empty _ . When they finish and Bren grabs her hands again, she exhales relief. 

_ Sorry,  _ he whispers to her, hand resting on her waist, warm where their teacher’s isn’t.  _ You’re a better dancer than me.  _

_ It’s okay.  _ She whispers back, her fingers gripping his tightly for just a millisecond.  _ Guess I have to be better than you at something right? _

* * *

The first time he hears music in the asylum, it’s his nurse. 

He doesn’t know her name, he doesn’t know his, he just…exists. So does she, whoever she is, with the humming. He doesn’t know what song it is, he doesn’t know when he heard it but he  _ knows _ it, and she hums it softly, pressing a rag damp with medicated water against a cut on his cheek. ( _ When did he get that? How long has he been hurt, how long has he been here?)  _ Her fingers trail his skin carefully, and he sighs. 

The woman smiles at him, silver hair streaking through the brown, her dark eyes crinkled with crows feet.  _ Sorry, is my humming that bad?  _

Ah, she wants him to speak? He’s not sure he can do that anymore but it isn’t bad, he doesn’t want her to stop. So he  _ carefully _ touches the hand of the woman, his blackened fingers gently touch her skin, and she looks at him, a little startled. He swallows, and tries to hum too. His voice is cracked and weak, disuse scarring him even as he tries to heal. 

This woman smiles at him, a little bit of light in their darkness, and she takes his hand in both of hers. She hums, using the water to clean off his hands. He doesn’t smile, but he does exhale, head leaning back against the cool stone wall. 

Sometimes, even now, that song gets stuck in his head. 

* * *

Bren dances with the daughter of Lord Tennyson, a man with questionable alliances, and the girl can’t stop blushing. 

It’s not her fault, he's being  _ exceptionally _ charming today, exceptionally beautiful in his suit, exceptionally alluring with his half lidded eyes and slow smile. She’s a good dancer on her own, and Bren leans into her to fill in where he’s lacking, that it might appear seamless. She doesn’t mind at all, and she’s more than happy to meet him where he is, as long as the eyes stay on them like they are. 

During the steps, his eyes find Wulf, in the shadows, next to the Lord Tennyson. It’s amazing how Wulf looks five years older than them, with his stubble and his jaw, the careful tilt of his smile, the way Wulf holds himself like he truly believes he’s better. Bren sees Wulf speak, soft and easy, and the Lord smiles softly. 

The girl smiles at him, and Bren smiles back, soft and open, like his heart isn’t pounding against his chest as Wulf works. Astrid is there, somewhere, disguised and waiting, just in case it all goes wrong. It’s their  _ first _ assignment that Ikithon is letting them work on their own, and they won’t be fucking this up.

Wulf leans down, to whisper something in the Lord’s ear, and Bren pulls his daughter closer, whispering something sweet and flirty in her ear. She blushes, and giggles slyly, slapping at his arm.  _ You’re so forward! What would your father think? _

Bren isn’t proud of how the thought of his parents makes him misstep, but the girl doesn’t see the mistake, and she certainly doesn’t see Wulf offer his arm to her father, and the two of them slip away. After a moment, a small servant boy follows them both out, and Bren can tell by the spaces between their steps it’s Astrid, going to keep an eye on them. The girl goes to look back to where her father was, and Bren puts a hand on her chin and kisses her, softly. Her blush intensifies, and she grins at him.  _ My father keeps a very formidable library, perhaps you would like to see it? _

_ I can think of nothing I would like more.  _ He smiles back, letting her lead him away from the party, from the murder of her father, from the obstruction of justice Lord Tennyson created in the Empire, from the first murder the three of them would ever do together. Ikithon didn’t know if the daughter knew much of anything, or if she was even involved.  _ Better safe than sorry _ , Master Ikithon had told him, fixing Bren’s suit before they left. 

Bren follows the girl who’s name he couldn’t bring himself to learn, and wonders if this is how every dance ends. 

* * *

_ Dance with me _ . 

Jesters voice is soft and sweet, and it reaches something he’s buried a long time ago. Caleb doesn’t  _ dance _ , he hasn’t wanted to for years now, but he’s  _ so drunk _ , and Jester offers up  _ so much  _ with very little in return. Still, he’s surprised when he sets his hand in hers, and she pulls him out on the tavern floor. Her hands are cold and small in his, and it gives him something to focus on in the haze. 

Confidently, she puts one of his hands on her waist, and he stands up a little straighter, (or he thinks he does?). Jester starts leading  _ him  _ in a waltz, even though the music playing isn’t the right count, even though he’s tripping over his own feet, and even though it’s not  _ perfect.  _ She smiles at him, so genuine it tugs on his heartstrings just a  _ little _ , and he has to look away. 

There’s something familiar about this, about the steps, about the music that’s changed as the musicians take note of their steps, the feeling of her sure steps against his. He hums as they dance, that same song he always hums, and he closes his eyes. Caleb can’t remember the last time he danced and  _ enjoyed _ it. It’s been so long. 

_ You were always a better dancer than me, Astrid.  _ He sighs, his body only a couple of seconds behind hers. Astrid stalls for a second, and he can hear her hum in her throat before she speaks. 

_ Are you okay, Caleb? _

His eyes open, and he looks down at Jester.  _ Jester.  _ He feels so  _ stupid  _ in that moment, and he sighs, looking for the door.  _ You’re trash, _ he thinks to himself, the ale in his stomach turning sour. He takes a couple steps towards the door, dreaming of finding a gutter to die in.  _ Maybe you’ll choke to death on your own vomit, that’s almost a fitting end for you, Widogast _ . 

The door never gets closer, in fact, it might just be getting further and further away. Jester is dragging him towards the stairs, towards the rooms they paid for, towards the room he’s sharing with Nott. Carefully, she helps him into bed, and pushes his hair out of his face. He tries to get back up, but her soft hand holds him in place.  _ I need to put the wire down.  _

_ Can you even cast like this? _ She teases him, and he scoffs, throwing an arm over his eyes so she doesn’t have to see him wince. 

_ I’m a very good wizard, Jester.  _

_ You’re a very  _ **_drunk_ ** _ wizard, Caleb.  _ She informs him, like he doesn’t already know.  _ Don’t worry, okay? I’ll be your alarm, I’ll keep watch. You can sleep, it’s okay. _

It’s not okay, because every dance ends in death and he can’t just pass out and leave her out there alone. He can’t just consign Jester to whatever death closeness with him has brought her, but Jester’s cool hand pulls his arm from his face and she pats his cheek. 

_ Sleep well, Caleb.  _

He hasn’t slept well since. 

* * *

Bren wishes he were a better dancer. 

He desperately doesn’t want to embarrass himself at the academy graduation, and every second that isn’t spent studying is spent practicing. Astrid, and even Wulf if Bren sends a pout the right way, have been there to practice with him for  _ hours,  _ past the point of popped blisters and sweaty hands. 

They practice as often as they can, even  _ now _ , as Bren and Astrid wait outside Wulf’s home, trying to hum the notes over the muted sounds of struggle inside. There’s a particularly heavy thud against the wall, and Bren looks towards the normally welcoming home. Astrid’s hand finds his face, her hand directing his gaze back on her. Her dark eyes are  _ sharp _ in the twilight around them, and her short hair barely hangs in her eyes.  _ Focus on me, Schatz, or this will all be for nothing _ . 

She’s right, she’s always right, and Bren takes her hands again, and starts the song over. They’re still dancing when Wulf comes out, blood splattered on his face. He looks them over as he shuts the door behind him.  _ Pull your right shoulder back, liebling. _ He tells Bren, shaking the blood off his hands.  _ It’ll make it easier to dip her.  _

Astrid hums the song all throughout dinner, and somehow, the choking gasps of her parents seems to fall in with the tune. It’s strange, to watch her move and clean up like their bodies aren’t at the table, but Astrid cleans her kitchen for the next hour, and she never stops humming. Wulf tries to help Bren practice, and it his hands tremble in Bren’s, they don’t talk about it.  _ You’re better when you’re being lead _ , Wulf sighs, like he’s disappointed, and Bren scoffs. 

The walk to his home is slow going, and he wonders if they’re as hesitant as he is, though they certainly hasn’t shown it as it was happening. But Bren understands, he knows what his parents did, how deeply they betrayed the Empire, betrayed  _ him _ . And now, he steps up for the front of his home, windows darkened and door locked, and it no longer feels  _ safe.  _ Wulf and Astrid pull a horse cart in front of the door, Wulf quietly teasing Astrid about pulling her weight, and Bren stares at the spell in his book. 

It’s annoying how much easier it is to cast this spell than it is to get the steps of a fucking  _ dance  _ down. But the gestures and words come easily, and it’s  _ instantaneous,  _ the fire catches in his home and it  _ burns.  _

Astrid comes to stand next to him, and she puts a hand in is, and pulls him towards her. His hand finds her waist, and she smiles at him.  _ It’s almost beautiful _ . 

Bren opens his mouth to answer her, but then he hears  _ screaming,  _ and his hands drop from Astrid’s. His eyes fall back on his  _ home _ , and he can hear her calling his name but he doesn’t remember how to answer her, doesn’t remember who he  _ is,  _ can’t remember the  _ steps _ . 

All he  _ can _ do is scream. 

* * *

It’s almost two days after they return from their trip to Bazzozan that he even  _ sees _ Jester again. 

They’re all feeling Yasha’s loss, feeling the sting of that comes with being  _ used _ to further someone else’s end goal, and Caleb thinks Jester might be suffering the most. He finds her under the Xhortree, near three in morning, not that the permanent twilight betrays that in any way. Her knees are drawn to her chest, and her arms wrapped around them. 

He says her name softly as he approaches, and Jester lifts her head up. Her eyes are red and swollen, and he can see the lights catch tear tracks on her face.  _ What are you doing up so late?  _

_ Trying to see if there would be a storm.  _ Jester answers, eyes looking up at the clear sky.  _ Maybe I could ask the Stormlord where she went...I...I have to try right?  _

Her voice is so watery and sad, it breaks his heart. Caleb walks over to her, and offers her his hand. Jester sniffs, watching him for a second, but she carefully takes it and they get her on her feet. Caleb watches as his hand reaches for her, blackened fingers carefully wiping away tears and Jester sighs, leaning into his hand.  _ I feel like I let her down, like I couldn’t save her.  _

_ It’s not your fault, Jester _ . He whispers, her face in his hands.  _ Magic is...cruel and unyielding, or it can be, and we...we’re going to get Yasha back.  _

Jester sniffs again, and he can see more tears in her red tinted eyes.  _ Gods Caleb, Molly is dead and Kiri is gone and Yasha is gone and my dad is gone and everyone leaves. Tomorrow it’s going to be Nott and Yeza and then you’re going to leave then-  _

_ Jester-  _ he pulls her against him, arms wrapping around her.  _ I’m not going to leave. _

_ Yet! If not you then Fjord, and Beau is going to get sick of us too and Caduceus has a family already and-  _ Her voice is slightly muffled in his chest, but he still holds on as she hides in his shirt and spills her guts.  _ I don’t want to be left behind, Caleb. But no one wants our help.  _

He holds her for a moment, before his hand finds hers and he squeezes.  _ Dance with me, Jester.  _

Jester looks up at him, her chin resting on his sternum.  _ There’s no music, Caleb _ . 

If that’s her only objection, she’s going to have to try a little harder than that. Caleb’s other had finds her waist and he starts humming that song from the darkness. Finally, the smallest smile cracks on Jester Lavorre’s face, and she takes the first step, leading him into  _ something _ . Whatever it is, it’s not a real dance, but it’s the first time ever Caleb has been  _ absolutely  _ sure he knows his putting his foot in the right place, that his timing isn’t off, that he isn’t making a fool of himself. 

Jester laughs, his hand moving to her lower back, and he remembers to move his shoulder back, so when he dips her, there’s no chance of her dropping. Jester is beaming when he pulls her back up, and she puts a hand on his face, an _open_ _vulnerability_ on her face. _Caleb don’t leave, please._

He smiles at her, and runs his burnt thumb across her bottom lip before he kisses her, fingers in her hair. Jester sighs into him, arms around his neck after only a moment, and she kisses his back, hard and wanting and  _ desperate.  _

_ Never Jester,  _ he whispers between them, panting and holding onto each other desperately.  _ I promise.  _

* * *

Caleb’s final dance comes on a day he’s not expecting. 

They’re fighting, and they’re doing okay. The Nein beat back against the onslaught of undead, and Jester and Caduceus both scream, sending out a shockwave of divine magic that pushes the skittering corpses back. Caleb is watching for the Litch, following them with his eyes and trying his  _ damnedest _ to line them up near a group of their own undead before he swears the molasses in his hands but he never gets the chance. 

One moment he’s starting at the Litch, and the next, he’s alone in a grand ballroom, one that looks  _ entirely  _ too familiar. But in his memory, the lanterns are all lit, and the music swells, and there’s the cheers and laughter of party goers. Now, only two lanterns are lit, casting everything in long shadows, and one single spectral figure floats near the band, playing a single violin. Suddenly, more and more specters appear, and they begin to dance to lonely waltz that plays. Caleb watches, curious, wondering what’s happened, what sort of  _ trick _ this might be, when he hears a voice from behind him. 

_ Have you saved a dance for me, Herr Ermendrud?  _

Caleb turns, and finds himself facing a figure made of shadows and a porcelain mask on her face. The Raven Queen regards him, and offers her hand,  _ pale _ white against the darkness around them.  _ Or do you prefer Herr Widogast?  _

_ Seems irrelevant now.  _ Caleb answers, realization flooding through him like a spell, and he takes her hand in his.  _ You should know, I’m a terrible dancer.  _

_ I’m much more interested in other things, dear Fate Breaker _ . Her mask doesn’t change, but the voice he hears in his head becomes  _ just _ a little sharper. Caleb waits for her to make the first step, and they begin to dance to the lone violin. 

_ I never pulled it off.  _ Caleb says, not bothering to count his steps or the beats.  _ I died no closer to my goal than when I concieved of it, so I don’t know what you’re looking for from me _ . 

_ Oh, this isn’t just about your desire to bastardize the fates, this is about all that you’ve unraveled as you’ve walked your winding paths.  _ The Raven Queen shakes her head, black empty eyes boring into his heart.  _ It’s the many thousands of things you’ve set into motion, it’s the many hundreds of lives you ruined, it’s the many tens of murders you committed, it’s the handful of people you saved. Your life has done quite a number on the world Herr Widogast, and frankly, I’m relieved to see you out of it.  _

Caleb winces, not sure what he was expecting from this, but surprised by her  _ interest _ . He doesn’t pretend he’s worth sparing, he doesn’t pretend he was worth saving, but it’s different, to hear the Matron tell him what horror he’s truly caused.  _ I’ve never pretended I was worth the effort it took to keep me alive.  _

_ You’ve never pretended you weren’t a monster either _ . She tells him, her timing perfect, her steps flawless. She’s impossible to dance with, leaving him behind a half step, and he’s finding himself  _ frustrated  _ that he can’t fucking do this. 

_ You’ve watched the world form and reform itself a thousand times over.  _ Caleb says, ignoring her, and he can see the shadows swell with annoyance.  _ Tell me Jester Lavorre survives this, survives  _ **_me_ ** _.  _

_ I’m not your crystal ball. The threads are fluid, no future is guaranteed.  _ Her still mask almost seems to frown at him. 

_ Not good enough.  _ Caleb shakes his head.  _ I need to know she’s okay, that they’re all okay if you expect me to follow you anywhere.  _

_ Do you believe this is a negotiation?  _ Her voice is  _ hard _ in his head, and he winces at the power behind it.  _ You don’t have anything left, it’s time to accept this. You’re allowed to stop fighting now, you can relax, you can rest. Haven’t you earned it? _

Caleb stops moving for a moment, and the Matron places her hand on his cheek. Gods it’s  _ tempting _ , it really is. He thinks of his parents, wondering if he would be able to apologize to them, if he would be given that one kindness. He thinks of Wulf and Astrid, wonders if they’re still alive, wonders if he’ll see them there, wonders if they’re waiting for him. Gods, how long he’s thought of rest, how long he’s thought of an eternal darkness that’s asks  _ nothing  _ of him. 

Caleb sighs, and shakes his head.  _ Not until I know about Jester _ . 

The Matron  _ glares  _ at him, her shadows swelling with anger at his insolence.  _ Do you think this dance won’t end?  _

_ Mind if I cut in?  _ A velvety voice calls to them both, and Caleb feels a warm hand in his before he’s pulled from the Raven Queen, right into the arms of the Traveler. Caleb stares in shock at the bright green cloak in the darkness of the ballroom, and the sly smile visible from the hood.  _ Everyone keeps raving about what an okay dancer you are, Widogast. I just had to see for myself.  _

_ How- _

_ They did a ritual.  _ The Traveler waves his hand, like it’s irrelevant.  _ She had you slightly out of their grasp, but Jester offered up a dance through her tears, and well, I certainly can’t resist a good dance, or Jester Lavorre. I’m glad to hear you feel the same way. Makes me almost tolerate you.  _

_ But-  _

_ Do stop talking, we’re wasting time.  _ The Traveler offers him his hand, and Caleb takes it. The diety in front of him  _ grins _ , and pulls, spinning them both until Caleb loses all sense of self into the darkness around them. 

The lone violin plays it’s final note. 

* * *

Caleb Widogast jerks awake, coughing up the stale blood in his lungs. 

Bleary eyes focus as he takes in all of the Nein, and they all look... _ relieved.  _ He wonders if that means they killed the litch before realizing they’re happy to have  _ him  _ back. Diamond shards decorate his chest, and he turns to look behind him, at Jester’s tears, and the smile slowly stretching on her face. Caleb pulls her against him, and Jester nearly crushes him as she wraps her arms around him. Her lips press against his, ignoring his blood and dirt, and her hands pull him as close as she can get him.  _ You came back.  _

_ Heard you wanted a dance,  _ he sighs into her hair, his smile against her forehead.  _ And I wouldn’t miss that for anything.  _

Nott and Beau fall into them at the same time, and the rest of the Nein follow. Arms wrap around each other and Caleb feels tears burning at the corner of his eyes. 

_ It’s the handful of people you saved.  _ The Matron had told him, and Caleb can  _ feel _ that now, with the people he’s managed to save wrapped around him. He drops the tension in his shoulders and relaxes into them, smile on his face. 

_ Save me another dance, Raven Queen, and I’ll tell you how I changed this world.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Widojest week! I'm not 100% sure I'll get through all of them but!!!!! Enjoy! As always! 
> 
> youcanreplytothismessage


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